For police, it's a closed case. For families, it's still a mystery.

Pallbearers, who played basketball with Jordan Hughes, including Fred Henry, center (wearing necklace) carry out his casket after the funeral Thursday, August 2, 2012 at New Hope Church, New Hope, for Jordan Hughes, 21, who was fatally shot in St. Paul and died July 25, 2012. (Pioneer Press: Jean Pieri)

TRACKING ST. PAUL HOMICIDES

Among the unsolved cases is the 2010 killing of Central High School student Isaiah Vinson.

Vinson was fatally injured March 16, 2010, about 10 minutes after school let out for the day. Police have said they believe the 17-year-old wound up in the street at Selby Avenue and Lexington Parkway after he was pushed or punched.

Vinson hit the side of a St. Paul Parks and Recreation truck, then fell and was run over. The driver of the truck wasn't found to be at fault.

Police said they want to know how Vinson came to be in the street and who is responsible.

"We need some closure for Isaiah and his family," said police spokesman Sgt. Paul Paulos. "Somebody has to know something or heard what really happened, who participated in this."

Police ask anyone with information about the Vinson case, or any unsolved homicide, to call them at 651-266-5650.

--Mara H. Gottfried

They were childhood friends, high school basketball stars and teammates, friends into their 20s.

Then they were both gone.

Jordan Hughes and Mandela Jackson, each with a bullet in his head. Both dead in St. Paul on July 25, 2012.

A year later, more questions than answers remain. But the police investigation is closed, and aspects of Hughes' and Jackson's deaths will probably always be unfathomable, especially to those who knew and loved the young men.

This much is known: A former classmate from Patrick Henry High School in Minneapolis dropped Jackson and Hughes off on an empty Summit-University street. He later said that he saw the handle of a gun in Jackson's waistband and heard a "pow" as he drove away.

Jordan Hughes (Courtesy photo)

Police found Hughes shot in the street. Hours later, Jackson was discovered dead in a Frogtown yard, a gun under his leg.

The same gun killed Jackson and Hughes, and DNA samples from several surfaces of the gun matched Jackson's, police say. The Ramsey County medical examiner's office ruled Hughes' death a homicide and Jackson's a suicide.

No one knew of any argument or problems between the men.

"None of it really makes sense," said Frances Jackson, Mandela Jackson's mother. "All I know is that it's a mystery and it's a tragedy."

Police believe Jackson killed Hughes. Jackson had untreated schizophrenia, "which most likely played a significant role" in what happened, said Sgt. Paul Dunnom, the lead investigator. "However, since he is dead, we will never know the answer to that question."

Jackson's family says they don't know what happened to Hughes. They were desperate to get help for Jackson, who was 22 when he died, and they think more treatment should be available to the mentally ill.

"He wouldn't take his medicine," Frances Jackson said. "I used to say, 'Let's break it up and put it in his orange juice,' " but they didn't because they didn't want to deceive him.

Mandela Jackson, left, 22, is shown in an undated courtesy photo with Helen Williams, the mother of his basketball coach from Patrick Henry High School in Minneapolis. (Courtesy photo)

Despite public perceptions that the mentally ill are dangerous, statistics show that's not so, said Sue Abderholden, executive director of the National Alliance of Mental Illness Minnesota. Nationally, 5 percent of violent crimes are committed by someone with a serious mental illness, she said.

Most mentally ill people don't commit homicide, Abderholden said.

"They are far more likely to take their own life than kill someone else," she said.

A CALL, AND A GOODBYE

St. Paul police urgently needed to reach the family of the young man found in the street with a head wound from a gunshot. They found a contact in his cellphone saved as "Mom."

Darlene Jones' phone rang at her Minneapolis home. She answered and gave the phone to her husband, Walter Jones.

"That call was the nightmare that no parent wants to receive," he said. "They asked me, 'Did I have a son, Jordan?' I said, 'Yes.' They said, 'Something has happened; you need to get over to the hospital right now.' "

Hughes, 21, had been found shot on Fuller Avenue near Fisk Street after police were asked to assist paramedics July 24, 2012, at 11:44 p.m. on a report of a "man down," a police report said. He was barely breathing.

"It was quite heart-wrenching -- the fact of trying to find out what happened, getting bits and pieces of information, and seeing the condition he was in," Walter Jones said. "We were able to talk to him, pray for him and hold him, say our goodbyes at the end."

Hughes died at Regions Hospital at 6:40 a.m. July 25, 2012, according to the Ramsey County medical examiner's office. He'd been shot in the forehead from 6 to 12 inches away, a police report said.

AFTER DROPOFF, HE HEARS 'POW'

While Hughes' family was at the hospital, police searched for the shooter.

People in the area of the shooting said they saw a man in a black shirt or jacket running away. Police found a black jacket in a nearby alley; inside a pocket was a St. Paul pawn shop receipt with a name on it: Mandela Jackson.

Jackson and Hughes' friendship went way back. They'd known each other from childhood basketball teams and had been teammates at Patrick Henry High School.

The Jordan Hughes gravesite at Crystal Lake Cemetery, complete with memorials of tee shirts, baseball caps and rosaries, was photographed at the cemetery in Minneapolis on Tuesday July 23, 2013. The grave marker was recently installed. (Pioneer Press: John Doman)

Hughes, who graduated from Patrick Henry in 2010, was a shooting guard and the school's all-time leading scorer. Jackson, a point guard, graduated in 2008 and was the team's captain as a senior, leading Patrick Henry to a fourth-place finish in the state tournament that year.

A friend told police that before the shooting, Jackson, Hughes and others had been hanging out outside another friend's North Minneapolis house. A fellow Patrick Henry classmate, Johnathan Ondieki, said Jackson and Hughes then came to his Brooklyn Center house, asking for a ride to St. Paul.

Jackson's family said two of his sisters lived near where they were dropped off.

During the ride, the conversation between Jackson and Hughes was normal, Ondieki told police, and he didn't notice tension or arguing.

Ondieki said Jackson told him where to drop them off -- a "totally empty" block, the report said. As Jackson was getting out of the car, Ondieki said he saw the handle of a gun in Jackson's waistband, according to the police report.

Ondieki drove away and 15 to 20 seconds later "heard a loud 'pow,' " the report said. He looked in his rear-view mirror and didn't see anyone. He said he was confused and called his mother for advice, the report said. His phone registered that he'd called "Mom" at 11:39 p.m.

Ondieki's mother told police that her son had asked, "(W)hat should I do?" and said "I feel like I should go back, Momma," a police report said. She told him, "Hell, no," and to come home, the report said.

He went home but returned soon afterward to St. Paul with his brother and Hughes' girlfriend to find out what happened, the report said. Ondieki declined comment for this report.

A SEARCH, HIS BODY FOUND

After police found the pawn shop receipt with Jackson's name, officers scoured the area for him. One place they looked was a home in the 400 block of Charles Avenue in Frogtown, where he'd recently been staying with a sister and brother.

Later, as Jackson's family was looking for him, his brothers found him lying in a yard on Charles Avenue about 8 a.m. July 25, 2012. The home is just more than 100 feet from his siblings' home. Jackson had a gunshot wound to the head, and paramedics pronounced him dead.

A woman in the home said she'd been asleep and heard one "pop" about 1 a.m. but "thought nothing of it," a police report said.

The medical examiner's office estimated at 9:20 a.m. that Jackson had been dead six to eight hours, another police report said. A circular mark around the gunshot wound behind his ear suggested the muzzle had been in direct contact with his head, the autopsy found.

Jackson's autopsy showed marijuana in his system. Frances Jackson said she constantly asked her son's friends not to smoke marijuana with him.

"It made him out of control," she said. "He would hear voices and see demons. It gave him psychosis."

He'd also been drinking the night of the shooting, his mother said.

GUN FOUND WITH JACKSON

Police found a 9mm handgun under Jackson's leg. A forensic scientist at the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension's laboratory determined that it was the one used to fire the bullets found in Jackson's and Hughes' bodies and the spent casings recovered on Fuller Avenue and Charles Street, a police report said.

DNA from several surfaces of the gun, including the trigger and muzzle, matched Jackson's. Neither Hughes' nor Ondieki's DNA was on the gun, a police report said. The gun, with an altered serial number, had not been reported stolen, a report said.

One friend told police he'd "never seen Jackson with a gun and added 'nobody would give him a gun' and referred to Jackson's mental health," a police report said.

Dunnom said the gun's last legal owner was unknown; where and how Jackson got the gun wasn't the focus of Dunnom's investigation. A check of a law enforcement database didn't match it to any other crimes, Dunnom said.

Jackson's mother told police that her son's friends said the gun was given to her son and/or Hughes by a friend; she didn't know why, a report said.

It wasn't the first time a gun had figured into Jackson's and Hughes' lives.

They were charged as teens in 2007 with having a gun in a Minneapolis park. Hughes said he'd bought it for $100 for protection, and Jackson asked to see it and put it in his own backpack, according to juvenile petitions.

HE'D FOUND A FAMILY

Hughes came to live with Jones and his family after he got into trouble in the gun case.

When Hughes was in eighth grade, his mother died of complications from surgery and he went to live in a foster home, Walter Jones said. The next year, Hughes asked Jones whether he and his wife, who he knew fostered other children, would become his foster parents.

Hughes became part of their family, Walter Jones said.

Jones had met Hughes as his basketball coach when Hughes was 10. The boy struck him as "almost a little man in a kid's body" who "was practically raising himself," Jones said.

"We immediately struck up a kind of a father-son relationship," he said.

Basketball was Hughes' love and passion, and he wanted to play professionally, Jones said. He received basketball scholarships and attended three community colleges but kept returning home. Jones thinks Hughes was homesick for his friends and his newfound family.

The hardest part of losing Hughes was having it happen as "he was maturing into the young man that we hoped he could be," Jones said. "We started to see that hurt or whatever it was from his childhood slowly start to erode and get better and better."

Hughes was looking to go to Dakota County Technical College in fall 2012 and play basketball there. Jones thought it would be a good fit, since he'd be close to home.

TROUBLE 'IN HIS EYES'

Jackson went to San Jacinto College in Houston to play basketball, but when he came back during his freshman year, his family said, they didn't recognize him.

"It was in his eyes," Frances Jackson said.

"And the words and the things he was saying -- it wasn't a regular conversation at all anymore," said Paris Triplett, an older sister.

Jackson's parents took him to a hospital in 2009. He was diagnosed with schizophrenia.

"He said he didn't have to stay at the hospital because there wasn't anything wrong with him," Frances Jackson said.

He was civilly committed, a court process to compel treatment for someone with a mental illness who won't seek treatment and is deemed a danger to himself or others, or can't care for himself.

Jackson's parents favored commitment as a way to help him.

The commitment order was stayed on condition that Jackson voluntarily remain at the hospital until discharge and take prescribed medications. The order expired after six months.

After that, Jackson, who didn't return to college, was in and out of hospitals but wouldn't regularly take his medication because he complained about the side effects, his family said. His mother complained of his frequent discharges from hospitals.

"When your child or any loved one is sick, they say, 'It's OK, they'll be all right,' " Frances Jackson said. "What do you want to do? Bring him in a body bag and then I can tell you my son did this (killed himself) because you all couldn't keep him in here to help him."

Sue Abderholden of the National Alliance of Mental Illness Minnesota said there is usually a "huge time period from when someone starts exhibiting symptoms and when they meet the criteria for commitment."

She thinks the state needs more programs to "engage people to accept treatment voluntarily" during that in-between time. Her organization plans to propose a pilot program along these lines during the next legislative session, Abderholden said.

LOST LIVES

Jackson's relatives said they do not want to guess about what happened to Hughes. If Jackson killed him, "one thing we know for sure is he didn't wake up and say, 'I'm going to kill Jordan today,' " Frances Jackson said. "What was he going to kill his best friend for?"

"Even though others around Mandela probably saw his illness as a scary thing, I think Jordan was under the belief that no matter what, he could control him, understand him, deal with this," Jones said.

Jackson's father, William Jackson, said he didn't worry that his son would hurt someone else, but the family did fear he would hurt himself. Jackson's relatives accept that Jackson took his own life, though they don't see it as an admission of guilt in Hughes' killing.

Jones, though distraught over losing Hughes, said he also feels sorry for Jackson.

"Knowing what I know about schizophrenia, I do believe that when he did what he did, that as quickly as he did it or at some point when he came back to himself, he couldn't live with what he did."